In the Den of the Dragon
by Midnight-Hallow
Summary: A glimpse into Draco Malfoy's home and life. A character analysis of sorts. My take on Draco's life.


In the Den of the Dragon 

**Summary: **A glimpse into Draco Malfoy's home and life.

**Chapter summary:** From Draco's point of view. His outlook of the world, of his family, of his life. His hatred, his lies, and his lost soul. Never will he be saved.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the young master although I wish I did. He belongs solely to JK Rowling, while I get to play with him on the weekends. On with the fic!

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**Lies, jealously, hate and honesty.**

'Why did you even bother, Narcissa? He is nothing but a worthless mutt that doesn't even deserve to be called a Malfoy!'

' _But, Lucius, he is our son.' she pleaded. 'Not only yours, but mine as well. Ours, Lucius. _Ours_!' _

' _How dare you! He is not _our_ son! He is _yours_! I won't have anything to do with that . .That. ._boy_.' Venom dripped heavily from his voice. Narcissa drew herself to stand at her full height, and looked Lucius right in the eye._

' How I would love to say that he does not belong to you! But you never allowed me to love him! You took him away from me, and he doesn't even know the meaning of family because of you! You're the one who's a disgrace!' There was a loud slap. Her hand flew up instantly to soothe her smarting check. With brute force, Narcissa was thrown against the wall. Fresh new bruises welled over the old ones. He was in a dangerous fit; it was surprising that Narcissa could live through fits similar to this. An animal instinct took over Lucius. He punched her several times in the face, shoulders and body. He pinched her nipples and pushed her down. She fell forwards, writhing pitifully under him. He kicked her, making her bite her lip. Blood trailed down her face. He pulled her up by her hair, and kissed her forcefully. He licked his lips of her blood and smirked. A glint shone in his eyes. The beautiful, clear grey that they were clouded over and narrowed into slits. Pure malice. He tore off her clothes, ripping them to shreds. She screamed as he roughly shoved his hard digits into her. Screams of torture tore from Narcissa lips as Lucius had his way with her. Screams of terror. Screams of pain. And yet, Lucius seemed to enjoy it all the more. 'Lucius, stop! Stop!' A long, high-pitched scream rang throughout the Manor.

It began to feel like a routine. Each day, Father and Mother would go at it, arguing whose son I was, how disgraceful I was to the family name and why I was even born. Ever since I was little, Father would claim me as his son. _His_ son, and _only_ his. Mother was just a trophy; something Father could show off, not love. But ever since I was enrolled in Hogwarts, hell began to have a whole new meaning. Though I bore the façade of a spoiled rich prat and a slimy git, I hated to lie. I absolutely loathe the feeling of manipulating someone else, lying to them and betraying their trust. I was one hell of an actor, because no one believed this. They took it as another lie. They thought I was lying when I said I hated to lie. They thought I was fooling them when I said I never understood the meaning of love, of emotion. Fuck them. Like they know who the hell I really am. Oh, Draco Malfoy, the fucking prince of fucking Slytherin. Oh, Draco Malfoy, the goddamned rich boy who has it all. Oh, Draco fucking Malfoy, the goddamned sex god. If I took therapy, they'd say I'd be angry at the world. How right they are. They'd say I would be doing stupid things like smoking pot, or become a fucking prostitute for attention because my own fucking parents never cared I even existed. But I don't go to a therapist, so their opinions on how to live my life are ignored.

Father had long since disowned me. Only when I turned twelve did Mother start to look after me. She would take an ice pack and hold it to my head to ease the throbbing where Father hit me. She would cry along with me, and tried her best heal me and cover up my wounds when I was beaten into a bloody mess. I finally felt as if I had a purpose: to be here with my mother and protect her as best as I can. Father would constantly beat her up and rape her. I've tried several times to stop him; I threw spells at him, bit him and fought back. Once I hurled an Unforgivable curse at him. But being part of the Death Eaters, Lucius was too used to this threat and avoided it completely. He was proud of me that day, the sick, twisted bastard, for fighting back. He was proud that I had the guts to even _think_ of using the Unforgivable curse against him, a man who had used it more times than he breathed. And for that, I was taken into the Dark Lord's care for '_proper'_ discipline. This, of course meant that he, the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters were free to do whatever they wished with me. Again, I learned a whole other meaning of the word 'hell'. Since then, I've stopped fighting back. Mother pleaded with him. She begged him to stop beating me up. She begged him to stop sending me to the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters for discipline. She begged, and she begged, and she begged. But all that did for her was getting her into more trouble with Father. But I never stopped trying to defend Mother. I never stopped trying to put myself on the line for Mother. Whether I like it or not. So much for a wonderful home life, huh?

" _You useless prat!"_

_I fell on the ground, hard. I tasted the bitter iron of blood in my mouth, and I spat it out. I was panting hard, each breath I drew felt like knives stabbing my heart. I looked at him, hatred burning in my eyes. Hot tears ran down my face, so hot, they felt like burning liquid. Lucius continued to throw punch after punch at me, along with a string of swear words. "Why the hell you're alive, I don't know, but you're no son of mine!" He kicked me again, making my head bang against the wall. A sharp pain seared my head. Lucius threw a blow on top of my head. It felt like it was split into two. I couldn't ignore the pain anymore. I couldn't push it to the back of my mind any longer. I tried not to scream as Lucius pulled me up by my hair. " You listen here, boy." He said to me, his breath heavy with the smell of alcohol, slurring his words slightly. "You try to save another one ever again.." He pulled harder, making me stand on my knees. He put his mouth next to my ear, so that I could hear every breath he took. " You'll be the next one who'll be the Dark Lord's plaything." My eyes widened in pure fear, something I had never felt before. He released me, and pushed me back onto the floor. "And as a reminder to you," He continued, pulling my right arm out. " I'll give you a little mark, so that you'll never forget." He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a dagger. He ran it along my forearm, leaving a crimson trail. I screamed in agony. It was hurting more than I thought it should. The dagger was burning my skin, leaving behind charred markings. I breathe, even though it hurt me even more than the cut. Crimson trailed down my hand, staining my Wizard Armani's. I began laughing. Why? I don't know. There was something just so funny about this situation that I found funny enough to laugh at while I was bleeding. "What are you laughing at, boy?"_

"_I don't know, Father." I paused again for a short outburst of laughter. " But I think that it is so funny that you, an experienced Death Eater, would threaten his son, then cut him so that he'll bleed to death, just to prove your point." I laughed again, this time, even louder. Lucius took this as offence, and slapped me hard. This made me laugh like a lunatic. He kicked me hard, breaking a couple of my healing ribs. Still I continued to laugh. Lucius eventually gave up and left me bleeding there._

"_Make sure no one is to enter this room, Kreacher." He told the elf. "Make sure that none of the others come in here to help Master Draco. Leave him to clear his own mess." He left the room and locked the door. My laughter died down quickly, and I soon found that I had problems breathing. I was left in a locked room with a broken wand, a cut arm, broken ribs and I was lying in a pool of my own blood. _

I hated going to school. In fact, I hated the fact that I was still alive. Each day, I would lie in my bed, wondering whether or not I was awake or asleep. I would just stare up into the ceiling, and try to hope that the day was going to be okay. Try to hope. But I would always run into Potter and his friends, and I had to continue to bore this façade of the worshipped Prince of Slytherin. How they think that they have me all figured out. If only they knew how much pressure is on me everyday. If only they knew what it was like, living my life. How much I had to live up to. I bet they could barely imagine. I bet they can hardly imagine how much hope Father has put into me to top all of my classes. How much pressure was put into my self-development so that I could be strong enough to be declared the Dark Lord's heir. If only they knew. But they don't. So who are they to think all this about me when they don't even know me? To them I am but a pointy-faced git that they meet in the corridors to piss off. To them I am nothing but the fucking freak that they taunt. To them, I am just another face that they'll see everyday, but never get to see beneath the mask. Damn them. But I don't blame them. Still, I can't help but hate them. Especially Harry. Especially Harry the goddamned Boy who fucking Lived. Harry the fucking Boy Wonder. I know people look at me and say that I've got jealously issues. HELL YEAH, I do. I'm jealous that he doesn't have a father to criticize him and watch his every move. I'm jealous that he doesn't have to live up to any expectations. Unless of course, that expectation is to save the entire wizarding world from Lord Voldemort. But honestly, I admire the guy. I have this _tiny_ smidge of respect for the goddamned Boy Wonder. I admire his courage. That's all I'll have to say, for now, or else some of you fangirls out there might think I'm gay or something.

Long ago, when I was about five or six, I remember Father being absolutely wonderful. I remember that he used to play with me the Aeroplane game. Something that muggles fly on to get to other countries or something. Anyway, he would lift me above his head and turn round and round, making _swish_ noises. I remember laughing so hard that he nearly lost his grip on me. Soon after I would vomit out the contents of my half-digested food all over his clothes. But he never got mad. He usually laughed, and vomit himself a while later. He had since advised me not to eat anything that had pumpkin in it. On cloudy days him and me would just lie in the grass and look at the funny shapes the clouds were. And, on starry nights, Mother, Father and I would sit on the balcony and wish upon shooting stars. But all this is just a memory. Just an image that I replayed over and over again. Lost forever. When I turned seven, I noticed changes in Father. He no longer hugged me or played with me. To get his attention, I would do silly things. I would go into the study while he was 'working' and pretend to drop dead. He never really took notice, and just sent one of the elves to help me. Stupid bastard. Stupid, _insensitive_ bastard. Some, _small_ part of me wishes that Father would be the way he was, years ago. Some microscopic part of me wishes that he would still come into my room at night and say good night. But I'm not five anymore. And I don't think Father even remembers being that way. I can only wished, but I know that it'll never come true. Unless of course, hell officially freezes over.

_It was so dark. And they were getting closer. Those things, those horrid things! I've begged them to stay away, but they keep coming for me! "Father! Father!" I cry out. Tears fall down my face. My hair was in disarray, and my feet were dirty. I hid behind a dumpster to catch my breath, but I know I mustn't tarry- they'll come for me. I run on, the skin on my feet bruised and torn. I trip over a small pebble and fall toward to gravel. I felt them etched closer to me, their disgusting faces cover in black. "Father! Father!" I throw my hands up in fear, cowering before them. One of them came forward, unmasking its mouth. It was going to perform the Kiss. I screamed, and called again for my father, sweat beading my forehead. It was getting closer, so very close! I opened my mouth to scream; when I suddenly felt strong hands gently shake me._

"_Draco, Draco, Father's here.. No need for any more tears...Ssh.." He cooed. Father stroked my hair, calming me down. I sat upright in my bed, and clinged to him._

"_Oh, Father! I was so afraid! The dementors were going to perform the Kiss and-" I began in fright._

"_Ssh, don't worry now, daddy's here. There're no more dememtors here." He took me in a tight embrace. " Do you want to sleep with me and mummy tonight?" I nodded quickly. He lifted me and cradled me in his arms. I fell asleep, sniffing._

END

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A/N : Please R&R! 


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